Living with geniuses
by Yoshishisha
Summary: Living with geniuses is always interesting, though it can sometimes be harrowing. The Holmes matriarch can tell you as much through those drabbles depicting various moments of her observation of the genius wildlife of her home. Drabbles series during Sherlock's childhood, with Mummy and Daddy Holmes included. Chapter 14: Sneaking In (in which Sherlock brings home a forbidden guest)
1. Tying shoelaces

Sherlock Holmes was a delightful little boy; his mother would tell anyone who would believe her (and even those who wouldn't). He was resourceful, delightful, careful, and simply overall wonderful (and no, it wasn't only her motherly pride speaking). Anyone with a functioning brain could tell that, and those who couldn't? Well they were simply mistaking her little genius' quirks for faults (a common mistake for anyone who didn't have a genius at home, she was sure).

Unfortunately, Sherlock's peers didn't seem to share the same opinion as her. But it wasn't her son's fault, of course. He simply didn't feel – ah – stimulated enough by the other children (mentally speaking, obviously). And that might have led him to engage in some… not so reputable activities. In fact, his mother was the only in possession of knowledge concerning his involvement in such activities, not that she'd ever let him know about it (and yes, that included the rest of the geniuses living in the house).

Living in close quarters with three budding geniuses could be hard – and very rarely, but still sometimes, boring too – but she was delighted to see that little Sherlock Holmes brought a little bit of spirit to the house.

After all, the mother thought as she sipped her tea and watched her youngest tie his brother's shoelaces together, he could have done a lot worse than a little pranking, couldn't he?


	2. Traipsing mud

Pranking could only work for so long, she mused as she heard her youngest son traipse mud through the entrance. "Shoes," she called calmly as she turned another page of her book, not even bothering to lift her eyes in order to confirm that, yes, her baby had intended to carry that mud over to the interior of the house (even though she'd told him several times that mud was meant to stay outside, thank you very much).

Only when she heard him cross the hall did she bother to confirm her assumptions: a little bit of mud was dripping past the entrance, as if a muddy shoe had been suspended over that space, before falling back into place on the "welcome" mat (which was probably exactly what had happened, knowing the little tyke).

The same scenario was repeated several times within the week, which almost made her doubt her little boy's genius (wasn't it only fools who repeated the same actions several times, while expecting different results?), but she tried to look underneath the underneath and deduced that there was probably something else at play (she may not have been a genius, but a mother's instinct trumped any type of genius anytime).

It was only when little Sherlock Holmes came to her one day, with a carefully wrapped rectangular present, that she got an inkling as to what he had been doing with his free time. Because under the wrapping – carefully preserved – was a beautifully homemade glass-covered box containing a variety of insects mounted on special insect pins (not that she'd known that until her little boy had told her). Under each and every one of those (written in that beautiful, yet clumsy calligraphy of his) was the name, date and place of capture of the specimen, he told her.

She said nothing more and let him sit in her lap while he told her in great details of the reasons why she'd had to keep him from traipsing mud all over the place (although he described it as a minimal consequence in the name of science, not that it excused him of the basic house rules).

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**So here's the newest installment of this drabble series. **

**I'll keep this short so I'll just say my most heartfelt thanks to _**_GeorgyannWayson_**_**and**_**_ Filia Venatoris_ **_**for their wonderful reviews, as well as to _**_The Dark Lady55_**_**and**_**_ idlewild1_**_**for adding me to their favourites. It warmed my heart!******

******Enjoy and review if you can!******


	3. Protectiveness

Young Mycroft Holmes was a protective teenager. And it was obvious to his mother's eyes that he dearly loved his younger brother, regardless of said brother's opinion. Unfortunately for him, he tended to show his love in such a way that any outside (and inside) observer would mistake it for petty jealousy or sibling rivalry (except for his mother, she knew everything).

As such, she knew that the only reason for her oldest son's apparent nastiness towards his sibling was his ill-fated attempts at protecting his younger brother, attempts rendered more difficult by the fact that Sherlock didn't seem to have a single shred of survival instinct in his being. But he tried, and succeeded, even though each attempt was punctuated by a bitter sense of resentment from her youngest towards her eldest.

So when little Sherlock Holmes complained about his latest experiment being stolen (not missing, he had told her, because Sherlock never misplaced an experiment), Mummy Holmes made no mention of having seen it in Mycroft's room, thoroughly dismantled and with parts of it placed under the microscope.

She also didn't have any reactions other than a secretive smile when she witnessed her youngest tear his hair to shreds when said experiment mysteriously reappeared in his bedroom, seemingly unscathed (he also didn't realize that any and all toxic component had been discreetly neutralized).

And if young Mycroft Holmes found his favourite plate sitting next to that special cake that positively made him melt in bliss on the dining table that very same day, well she certainly wasn't at fault, was she?

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**And today marks the appearance of a teenage Mycroft for the first time.**

**So this chapter came earlier, because I'd like to point out the fact that I put up a poll on my profile about what the Holmes patriarch should be called in the story. Please let me know whether you'd like it to be Papa Holmes, Daddy Holmes, or any names you can think of.**

**So thanks for reading, and tell me what you thought!**


	4. Warpath

Young Mycroft Holmes loved his brother, he really did, and his mother could even attest to that fact through the use of many situations she'd observed over the years as examples.

At the moment though, one would have to dig very, but very deep in order to find the tiniest glimpse of that love, for Mycroft Holmes was on the warpath. And his mother carefully made a note of sending heartfelt prayers to the soon-to-be departed soul of any and all who crossed paths with him while he was in such a state.

The cause of such anger? Well, it could be no other than little Sherlock Holmes, of course. Even his mother had to admit that, as amazingly adorable as her littlest tyke was, he did seem to possess an uncanny talent for getting under his brother's skin.

Of course, anyone with any sense of observation (and yes, she did possess some, although she didn't cultivate it to the same degree as the three male members of the household) could tell that this particular storm had been brewing for quite a while. But it seemed that, as usual, she had been the only one to feel the tension in the air; that ominous feeling of foreboding that popped up whenever one of her geniuses started a new project had been particularly difficult to shake off in the previous days.

After all, it had begun when her oldest had found his shoelaces tied together, thus leading to him being almost late to a job interview. It had simmered further when the contents of his carefully organized bookshelves had been rearranged in a nonsensical order, which made him lose precious time during his studies...

And at the moment it was blowing up, the Holmes matriarch noted as she watched the normally unflappable teenager rave and rant in front of his open wardrobe. A subtle peek inside it revealed that all the meticulously tailored suits had been replaced with variations of emo, hippie and punk rock style, which would force Mycroft to either buy more suits or wear what he considered to be "an affront to every suitable piece of clothing that ever existed".

But, in the relatively safe privacy of her mind, even she had to admit that it was quite funny to see her son lose his composure in such a spectacular way (not that any of the inhabitant of the house would ever know that, of course).

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**And we see some more of Mycroft, who seems pissed because of Sherlock's pranking spree~ :D**

**So right now, the most popular choices for me to call the Holmes patriarch are "Daddy Holmes" or by name, with one vote each. ****If you have a preference about what you'd like to call the Holmes patriarch, please do vote on my poll in order for me to know (I'm not psychic, after all).**

**And thanks to all of you visitors who have and will see this fic, in particular those of you who followed/favourited me or left a review: this fic is alive because of you, after all. So review if you've got time, and don't forget to vote!**


	5. Worry

She worried for him… Constantly… And she loved him to death, she really did, but (God help her) if he continued on like that, he would be the death of her.

Mummy Holmes let those thoughts run rampant in her head as she watched her husband work on his newest project. It wasn't that she doubted his intelligence (far from her be such thoughts), but she severely doubted his capacity to take care of himself.

She took in his bedraggled appearance, her sight roaming his face and straying upon the dark bags under his eyes before moving on to inspect his state of dress, which led her to frown as she noticed that he was still wearing his pajamas. She opened her mouth to inquire as to when was the last time he had eaten, but shut it closed without a sound as she reasoned that he probably hadn't since the previous night (he believed that eating slowed the brain down. She left the room without a sound, knowing that Daddy Holmes had never registered her presence.

Moments later saw the Holmes matriarch crossing that same door again with a hot cup of tea in her hand. She had briefly entertained the thought of making scones to accompany it, but had discarded the thought just as quickly, knowing that they would remain untouched. She sighed softly as she silently cursed whoever had told him that digestion slowed the thinking process down (funny how the same source didn't teach him that lack of sleep did the same) and simply hoped that he wouldn't transmit that particular belief to any of their children (and why did she feel as though she had just jinxed herself?).

Letting him know of her presence with an arm around his hunched shoulders and a simple peck of the lips on his brow frowned in concentration, the Holmes matriarch set the teacup in front of him. Of course, this time, she remembered to stay with a warning that she wouldn't be leaving until he'd gotten the content of it in his stomach (experience had taught her that he'd ignore it if she didn't make sure that he ingested it).

She settled herself on a chair set nearby for this exact purpose as she watched Daddy Holmes gingerly drain his teacup in order to return to his research. She observed him carefully as he began to display signs of drowsiness: droopy eyelids that needed to be rubbed ever so often, head lolling forward slowly before snapping back up in a semblance of alertness… She finally let a Mona Lisa smile spread over her features when her husband lost his fight with himself and fell asleep on his papers.

Mummy Holmes stood up and put a colourful blanket around Daddy Holmes' shoulders, before gathering anything that could serve as evidence of what she'd done.

She left the room with a secretive smile: no one would know to check the teacup…


	6. Crush

Mummy Holmes was excited. Very few people on this Earth would have been able to tell so due to her serene façade and posture, but all the signs were there. The excitation was visible in that slightly upturned corner of her lips, could be witnessed in the way she leant a bit more forward in anticipation compared to her usual reading posture… However, the biggest hint as to her excited state was the fact that her eyes couldn't seem to rest upon the page of her book for more than ten seconds before straying away towards her eldest son.

Because therein lied the cause of her excitement. Taking in her son's stiff posture on his chair, his neatly pressed suit and the not so subtle glances he seemed to throw towards the door and his watch every once in a while, Mummy Holmes couldn't help but marvel at the unusual behaviour her son was exhibiting. Because there was only one reason she could think of for his unusual demeanour (well… there were in fact several, but one in specific held her fancy) and it wasn't that ludicrous theory involving an inherent visit from the Grim Reaper, or something equally ridiculous.

And the cause of young Mycroft Holmes' nervousness had just rung the doorbell, right on time for the tea invitation Mummy Holmes had extended to both the young lady and her mother.

The Holmes matriarch hurried languidly (yes, such a thing was indeed possible) to the door, easily managing to get there before her eldest son. A quick glance behind her showed him to be frozen still, eyes glued on the entrance.

"Oh, I have missed you so, my dear!" was the first sentence spoken by the oldest visitor.

"Not as much as I have, dear friend," was the playful reply offered in response.

"I assume that you have met my daughter, Margaret, already?" said the guest, gesturing towards the young lady accompanying her.

"Of course," was the Holmes matriarch's reply. "But where are my manners, do come in," she continued as she led her guests inside.

Mummy Holmes closed the door behind them, fluidly turning towards the still frozen figure of her son. She kept fought to keep a grin from forming on her face.

"You have both been acquainted with my eldest son, Mycroft, I believe," she mentioned, stealing a glance at her friend's daughter. The girl seemed to be under the same spell as Mycroft, unable to tear her eyes away from him.

During that short lapse of time, young Mycroft Holmes had unfrozen (and it was about time, too!) in order to extend a gentlemanly hand towards the younger girl.

"It is a pleasure to see you again, Miss Margaret," he intoned as he bent down to kiss it lightly, only the barest hint of red on his cheeks betraying his sentiments.

"My feelings reflect yours, Mr Holmes," was the last words Mummy Holmes and her friend heard, before they had to eclipse themselves to the kitchen in order to gossip like the old biddies they were about their children uncharacteristic shyness around one another.

Who would have known that always-perfectly-in-control Mycroft Holmes could be defeated by a simple crush?

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**I know, I'm super late :S And for that I must apologize, but I am still unsure of when my next update will be, so I would advise to not hold your breath. For those of you interested in the reasons for my long absence, let me just say that I got a job and haven't managed to fit writing in my new schedule. And as if that wasn't enough, inspiration has been scarce for my ongoing stories, leading me to write unrelated oneshots instead.**

**Sorry for that, but I'll try to not make you wait as long for the next chapter, deal?**

**Review if you've got time, or send a PM if you've got something to say :D**

**This chapter is dedicated to _idlewild1 _who requested "Shy Mycroft". He's not exactly shy here, but I hope that having a crush is close enough ^.^**


	7. Men

Men. They thought so very highly about themselves. Whether it was her husband who thought that he could convince his body to forego its need for sleep, her eldest who had a control-streak the size of the universe, or her adorable youngest who seemed convinced that he could never be wrong, all three men of her life had some issue pertaining to their perceived invulnerability.

And her? Well, they all loved her, of course, but they didn't seem to realize how much power she wielded in HER household. Unlike them, she favoured more subtle methods of control, such as manipulation and conditioning.

As such, it was for a very good reason that she had a completely secret black book hidden in the double-bottom of her underwear drawer. One that she regularly updated, and to which she regularly referred to when using its information.

Yet it still baffled her to see how amazing geniuses such as the ones she lived with could be remarkably obtuse when they cared to.

Seriously! Why did no one realize that she _conveniently _let Mycroft enforce his sleeping schedule unto the whole household by cutting off all electricity in the house when he judged it appropriate? And why had no one commented upon the fact that cute little Sherlock's more destructive experiments always happened to be witnessed by his older brother? And what about the fact that handsome Daddy Holmes always seemed to pinpoint glaring holes in the youngest's reasoning without even thinking about it?

Did they think it was all a coincidence? That they just happened to be at the right place at the right time?

The Holmes matriarch let out a derisive snort at that ridiculous thought. It should have been obvious that SHE was the one who had shown Mycroft most of what he knew about electricity, with that specific goal in mind. The boys should also have understood that the layout of the rooms SHE had organized was arranged in order to have Mycroft pass in front of his brother's haunts as often as possible. And how could they have missed the fact that SHE always managed to mention the current subject of Sherlock's experiments in her various conversations with her husband, thus giving him time to subconsciously think about any possible flaws in them before he was even faced with the result?

Mummy Holmes smiled secretively as she watched her family eating dinner around her. Knowing her boys, they had probably chalked it up to it being some sort of phenomenon caused by their subconscious in order to remove all disturbances from their environment.

Ah, men!

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**So here's the latest installment of my series concerning the Holmes household. And Mummy Holmes is ruling it with an invisible iron fist :) Makes me laugh that none of the boys seem to realize it, haha!**

**Tell me what you thought again, or what you'd like to see and I'll find something to do with it! Because seriously, some of you seem to have wonderful ideas ^.^**

**I look forward to knowing your opinion about this one :)**


	8. Tired

She was tired. More than ususal, of course. For there always was an underlying current of tiredness in her body due to the active nature of the three geniuses that made up her world. It was tiring, but rewarding to be the Holmes Matriarch, and she wouldn't exchange her position for the world.

But that specific day was diffeerent: she felt more sluggish than usual, had difficulty concentrating, and she was pretty sure that her two sons had conned her into approving of some of their less socially acceptable plans, the two little tykes. As such, she was conscious of the fact that she wasn't at her best and really should take a well-needed break.

But she still kept on dutifully with her responsibilities. She made sure here boys weren't starving themselves, even though it forced her to search high and low in order to pry them away from their current projects. She ensured that her sons went outside to socialize, even if it subjected her to the dreaded puppy eyes and an entire afternoon of attempting to prevent her youngest from accidentally getting himself killed (whether it be from a slighted mother whose fidelity he had brought into question, an angry child whose sandcastle building skills he'd insulted, or even little Sherlock himself, as he didn't to understand that there were other ways to test the effects of an 8-feet freefall on a child's body).

As such, it was not surprise that she crashed on the most comfortable chair she could find in a relatively unused room of the manor as soon as she had made sure all of her boys were settled in their respective working space. Thus, her deed done for theday, she shut down tiredly, secure in the knowledge that all her men were well.

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**Hey! Sorry for the disappearance again, but I'm back for real this time! Thanks for the support everyone, it warms my heart to see so many people following this story, and I can't express how awesome this is! I love you all XD  
**


	9. Awe

Mycroft Holmes thought of himself as a master manipulator. Or at least, a fledgling one, to make an amendment to this fact. Nonetheless, he was still miles ahead of his peers in this specific domain (not that it was anything to be proud of, considering the imbecility - was that a word? Well it should be - of the vast majority of them).

However, the fledgling master did not care about that, not at all. His peers had no hope of ever being role models for him, and certainly not in the field of manipulation. No, his role model, his target, the milestone by which he judged his advancement was in a league of its own. A genius in their own right, they were a force to reckon, especially because of their devious scheme.

And yet, they weren't the one most people thought of when he described his role model, Mycroft though with a dash of fondness as he gazed at his mother.

Surprising, wasn't it? Most plebeians (both teachers and alumni) automatically assumed that his role model would be his father. And once upon a time, Mycroft had agreed with them too! After all, who wouldn't want to be like the genius renowned in a specific set of professional circles? One whose eccentricity and lack of sociability was widely known and accepted due to his tremendous intelligence?

Mycroft certainly didn't disagree with those methods, but his father had simply been surpassed by someone far better in his mind: his mother.

Indeed, _she_ was the real power in the house. She ruled it with an iron fist in a velvet glove, in such a way that its inhabitants found themselves agreeing to her rules, while still believing them to have been their own ideas. Mycroft himself had been such a victim - no, victim had an underlying sense of criminality - or rather under the influence of this behaviour for a long time, before he even realized its presence.

And that fascinated him.

The effortless way in which she'd arranged the various room to be in such a way that all three of them would unwittingly interrupt each others' activities at the most opportune moments for her; the numerous concessions she seemingly fought over in order to make them believe that they had thwarted her, even though she had them exactly where she wished them to be; the masterful manner in which she fooled everyone - themselves included, loath as he was to admit it - into thinking that she was the least intelligent person in the room, no matter who she spoke to…

Mycroft could not believe it had taken him that long to open his eyes to the truth. Nonetheless, he had found the worthiest role model and had made his choice.

"Mother, I will study Political Sciences in University," he announced without preamble.

Her sly smile told him that he had once again played right into her hands, and that he had unwittingly done whatever she had predicted of him. But it didn't matter anymore, he mused as he kept his ever present awe of her in firm check. Two could play this game, now that he was aware of its existence.

One day, he would surpass her. He would become… The British Government.

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**Hey! Sorry for the delay in getting this one out, I've been trying to write it for a while, and ran into a block somewhere around the first mention of Mycroft's mother.**

**What did you think about Mycroft's POV, btw? Should I do it again with other characters? Was it alright? And we finally see where Mycroft's ambition came from :)**

**Next chapter, we'll be back to Mummy Holmes' point of view, so don't worry :D**

**Leave a review if you've got time~**


	10. Troublesome Confrontation

"Dear, you really should spend more time with the children."

The Holmes patriarch heard his wife's voice, but kept on writing, unwilling to let go of his train of ideas. Einstein's theory of relativity was so interesting; the possibilities seemed virtually endless! So if he observed the nuclear fission of a Helium atom at 90% the speed of light, would the gamma factor cause a time dilation significant enough to-

Two dainty hands splayed over his papers forced him to look up to see the person responsible.

_Oh_, he thought simply as his brain mentally catalogued each and every detail caught by his eyes, ears, and nose in order to form a picture that didn't bode too well for him.

Actively, physically interfering with his work instead of drugging him as she was usually wont to do – of course he knew about it, he may be a tad distracted at times, but he wasn't oblivious – suggested an advanced degree of irritability as well as some sort of time constraint; a slightly humid patch of fabric at her lower ribcage, right about the height Sherlock had reached recently – the child could not stop talking about his non-existent growth spurt for weeks after having reached that point – probably originated from the boy attempting to placate her because of a mistake done during breakfast with a hug, which didn't seem to have worked all that well; a strand of hair – too thick to be her own – about her breast, Mycroft's certainly, led further credence to the theme of atonement and forgiveness as the lad was remarkably touchy about that tamed contraption on his head he liked to call hair.

But it was her face which held the most pieces to the puzzle: her eyes flickered away every so often as her ears seemed to strain to hear the slightest bit of sound, brow furrowed in what could pass as concentration, but was most likely irritation, as well as a smile… No, defiantly not a smile, a baring of teeth would be a more apt description perhaps, as it exhibited entirely too many teeth to be anything even remotely close to resembling a genuine smile.

Problem solved then: the boys had once again had another spat, which coupled with her relative's death as well as the neighbour's daughter's inappropriate choice of a boyfriend – anybody other than Mycroft, really – seemed to have driven her right up the metaphorical wall.

The atmosphere needed to be lightened then: he could do that.

"'Our babies will be smart and beautiful', you said," he voiced, barely managing to keep a poker face on. "'Perfectly angelic', even," he continued, completely failing to keep the smirk out of his voice.

"And they are," she acknowledged, the edges of her grin softening to form a smile.

_Mission accomplished_, Daddy Holmes thought as he went back to his papers, mind returning to estimating the length contraction that would result from the resultant time dilation, and oh! If he added another planet there to shift the gravitational axis, it would-

He raised his eyes again to meet a smug gaze and that damnable Cheshire grin he'd dreaded ever since the first time he'd seen it.

"I should be ashamed of the time it took me to realize I was writing on my desk, shouldn't I."

He said that more for his wife's benefit than his own as he gazed back down at the no longer unblemished surface of his desk, then at the papers she held in her deceptively dainty hands.

She turned around to leave the way she had come instead of answering, flashing him a wicked grin made out of nothing but bare teeth as she left.

"It's getting quite chilly in here, don't you think?" she asked instead as she slightly raised the papers she still held in a waving gesture.

He groaned in dismay as he heard her threat loud and clear: "Follow me or those papers might serve to heat the house," she'd none too subtly implied. He briefly entertained the idea of letting it go and restarting his notes from memory, but…

It seemed like Einstein would have to wait after all, he acknowledged as he reluctantly stood up to follow.

Troublesome woman.

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**I'm back! Just a chapter from Daddy Holme's point of view for the amazing GeorgyannWatson who requested it :) Not sure if you'll like, cuz I think the middle is a bit confusing, but I tried :P**

**And yeah, the updating once a week thing for each story totally didn't work, so I'm trying something new this time: I'll try to put up a piece of writing (either Malphas, Let it Go, Living with Geniuses, or my oneshot collection) once a week so you'll all at least have something to read :) **

**I really hope it works :P Leave a review on your way out if you can~**


	11. Temper Tantrum

SLAM!

The front door slammed violently even as a loudly resonating set of footsteps made their way through the lobby. And, to Mummy Holmes's complete lack of surprise, their owner barely slowed down to flail his hand in a gesture vaguely resembling some sort of salutation. It was good to see that she'd at least managed to instill some semblance of manners in her house's inhabitants. Unfortunately the irritated little tyke apparently wanted to belie that opinion as indicated by the sounds of stairs being violently stomped on then resonated through the house, prompting the two parents to exchange exasperated looks with each other.

Well… Mummy Holmes was attempting the exchange (it was a rather single-sided exchange, to be honest). Daddy Holmes was once again too focused on his research to pay attention to anything outside of it.

The sound of a second door slamming further within the house didn't have a more rousing effect on her husband than the first, Mummy Holmes observed absently. However, the following silence seemed too ominous to her trained Holmes Matriarch was halfway through preparing her cup of tea (one always needed a cuppa when the children were sulking) when the first sounds of music reached her sensitive ears. They were so faint she would've dismissed them as the fruits of her imagination, but the rising crescendo that washed over the house dispelled such a notion immediately.

Mechanically completing the preparation of her tea, Mummy Holmes sat down across from her husband and stared. Little Sherlock had upped the ante quite a bit, and she had a healthy amount of difficulty believing that the crazy boffin in front of her truly didn't register the sounds that could barely be constituted as music. She observed him more closely, trying to find a sign that betrayed his interest. Huffing into her tea, she had to give up: it her husband was making it hard for her on purpose. This most likely stemmed from his refusal to acknowledge what he considered to be "superfluous input" from his senses. Again.

It only took a few more seconds before Daddy Holmes shuffled his papers aggressively one last time before admitting defeat and dropping his pen across the pile. Whether his inability to concentrate derived from their son's cacophony or her own unwavering stare, Mummy Holmes couldn't quite tell. She did like to attribute herself a share of the credit, nonetheless.

As his gaze finally left the ceiling whence it had settled, her favourite scientist leveled a tired glare at her. Raising a single eyebrow in response, the woman watched as her husband's gaze flitted towards the ceiling from whence the noise originated, before leveling it back at her.

Ah. In light of that clarification, she could now see the accusatory glimmer in those cherished orbs. He couldn't have been clearer in meaning if he'd shouted: "Was it truly necessary for you to buy him a piano?"

Uncharacteristically rolling her eyes at her husband's silent reprimand, Mummy Holmes spoke up.

"Because the violin you wanted to acquire would have made this situation more bearable?"

He at least had the decency to abate the force of his glare at that fair point. They both knew that she harboured a particular dislike of violins: she was convinced that (professional musician or not) every violinist sounded like they were skinning a cat as soon as the bow touched the cord. Her husband, of course, happened to disagree.

As though refuting her argument, a resounding thud (or rather, two of them) sounded from over their heads, accompanied by a dissonant echoing symphony that could have been impressive under other circumstances. Mummy Holmes closed her eyes, and took a calming sip of her tea: she didn't even need to look at her husband in order to know that his gaze had acquired a smug shine. It was also highly probable that a corner of his mouth (the left, if she wasn't mistaken) had been slowly rising since the first thud.

"The violin would have already been shattered, by now," she pointed out, opening her eyes in time to see her husband's mouth twist into a pout. "And its last sound would have been a dissonant screech."

That was enough to make Daddy Holmes speak at last. "We'll get him to attend lessons then."

That might have sounded like a concession from anyone else, but the Holmes Matriarch knew better than to assume it to be so from her husband. And little Sherlock agreed with her, it seemed, if his increasingly chaotic noise was any indication. Both adults knew that their youngest had most probably erased their presence from his mind as soon as they were out of his sight though. With the knowledge that talking to their son before he'd exhausted his irritation on the instrument would be unsuccessful, Mummy Holmes took another sip of her tea as Daddy Holmes returned to his papers.

She did so hope this impromptu recital would stop before Mycroft came back home, nonetheless.

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**I'm back? Note the question marks, because after this 8-months hiatus, I really do not want to give you false hopes. I am reasonably sure I'm back for this story, at least, because I've got something like 20 chapters written in a notebook for this one. So, since transcription shouldn't make me late, I guess you'll have the most regular updates for the foreseeable future :)**

**And I've always loved the idea of the Holmes being a musical family :D Here, Sherlock's got a piano, but going by canon I dare say Mummy Holmes will fold and let Daddy Holmes buy Sherlock a violin soon enough. She'll have to find something for her ears then :P**

**And thanks again for all the love despite my absence. I just checked my mails and realised I'd gotten a bunch of follows, so I'm so very happy!**

**-Yoshishisha**


	12. Sleeping together

Mummy Holmes was having a perfectly peaceful night. To be fair, that perfectly peaceful night had been preceded by a particularly gruelling, as was the norm lately.

However, none of that seemed to matter when she finally managed to slip into Morpheus's arms (not that she was cheating on her husband, mind you). She'd been prepared for a glorious nine hours of uninterrupted sleep, hoping that her husband would have the grace to stay silent when he finally decided to come up to their room.

In the end, what woke her up was not her husband, as expected, but instead a smaller form slipping seamlessly into her bed. Mummy Holmes briefly entertained the idea of behaving like the petulant child the body most probably belonged to and take over the entirety of the bed. Unfortunately for her fantasy, her motherly instinct reared its head and reminded Mummy Holmes that, as much as she wished it were otherwise, her son probably had a legitimate reason for stealing his parents' bed.

Scooting aside, she made her move. "Did you have a nightmare?" No answer. Which was everything but unexpected, quite honestly. She chose a different tactic. "Mycroft is still awake?"

This time, the response was immediate. "How should I know!" Sherlock seemed to realise too late that he had been pretending to be asleep, and promptly went back to faking.

Mummy Holmes shook her head fondly and leaned back against her pillow. She'd gotten her answer anyways. Mycroft was asleep. It was evident, and Sherlock knew it as well. The whole family could have set their clock by Mycroft's schedule and still be on time. As such, if Mycroft went to sleep everyday at 9 at night, save for weekends when he slept at 10, it meant that Mycroft had indeed gone to bed at 9, as was customary for the lad.

_Beautiful child_, the Holmes matriarch thought fondly. It seemed he still had that hero worship of his brother and didn't want to seem like the child he was in front of Mycroft. Mummy Holmes tousled her son's unruly locks and pressed a kiss to them before she attempted to go back to sleep.

Keyword being "attempted". And as it turned out, this attempt ended up being mostly unsuccessful, not that she'd expected anything else.

Mummy Holmes knew that Sherlock was a messy sleeper. A very messy one. As unobtrusive as he could be when entering the bed, Mummy Holmes found it impossible to ignore his presence as soon as he truly fell asleep.

_This, _she observed, _is most certainly the reason why he refuses to sleep with his brother_.

Indeed, Sherlock behaved like a cross between a limpet and a lion cub as soon as he occupied a horizontal surface. Stretching across the length of the bed first, whoever happened to share a bed with the boy soon found themselves assaulted by an array of limbs. Furthermore, those limbs not only invaded one's personal space, but also stole away the majority of the bed's coverings. Which was exactly how Mummy Holmes soon found herself unable to sleep,

The Holmes Matriarch hadn't quite realised she'd slipped off into sleep until she found herself waking again. As she silently searched for the time, her gaze slid over a clock that indicated it was three in the morning just as she once again heard the noise that had presumably woken her. Her husband did have that unfortunate habit of colliding with about every single piece of furniture available when he was sleep-deprived. In this case though, it worked in her favour as she had ample time to welcome him in. When he nudged the door open with a sneaky creak and let his head in swiftly, he found her propped up on her elbows. "Seems to me you'll be sleeping on the couch tonight," she commented with a smile that was overly giddy for the situation. And didn't he know it.

Daddy Holmes simply looked at her, seemingly attempting to convey his indignation with his gaze alone (not that she could see much in the semi-darkness of the room). What she did know was the presence of the grin tugging at the edge of her mouth; one he apparently didn't need to see in order to know about.

"You are letting our son expulse me from my own bed."

The revelation was stated flatly, in the slow tone one usually reserved for very young or mentally impaired.

Mummy Holmes didn't even try to with-hold an unseemly roll of her eyes.

"First come first served, darling." She did make sure to stretch the term of endearment as much as humanly possible, for he did loathe it so. "You really should come to bed earlier if you truly desire a place in it."

Instead of sighing in aggravation as she'd expected, her husband simply stood as still as a gargoyle and continued to stare at her. She had built up her resistance against that stare (years of marriage had to be useful for something), but the Holmes Matriarch could already feel herself wavering.

Fortunately, her youngest chose this most opportune moment to entangle himself further into his covers (thus stealing the last of them from his mother) and let out a muffled groan into his pillow. That innocuous action finally led to the sigh she had so awaited, and her husband gamely retreated. She had won this battle, and yet... She couldn't help but feel as though she hadn't won the war.

As she stepped out of bed the next day (her son was still hogging the covers), she walked down the stairs to find her husband rearranging the cushions on the couch... Which he never usually did. In fact, she had repeatedly despaired over him ever remembering to do any sort of domestic task (God pray he wouldn't transmit that characteristic to their children).

"You haven't tried to get a lick of sleep, have you?"

As was customary, she could read his face like an open. And anyone would have recognised the expression of a lad caught with a hand in the cookie jar.

* * *

**So here's this newest chapter! In which Sherlock has a nightmare and hogs the cover, while Daddy Holmes unceremoniously gets kicked out of bed. By the way, do you guys think I should put those short chapter summaries at the beginning of the chapter? Or is it okay for me to leave it at the end?**

**Anyway, thanks for all the love! The stats function was down for awhile, but I can now see that people have visited/fav/followed this story nonetheless! So a big thank you and a cookie to all of you wonderful readers. Feel free to tell me if there's a specific scene you'd like to see at some point in the future :)**

**-Yoshishisha**


	13. New Friend

Mummy Holmes loved her family. That was a true, tested, and proven fact, no matter that her husband didn't consider her method scientific enough. Nonetheless, despite the unconditional love she felt towards her boys, she couldn't help but fully appreciate the moments when she was away from them.

She felt… as though she was on an unofficial vacation. _No work, no boys, no distractions… Only my girlfriends and some tea_. She let out a slow exhale in her cup, before taking a sip of it, enjoying the smooth glide of the warm liquid down her throat. _I've missed this_.

This time, it had been decided that they would have their customary tea party at Mrs Lanvers's residence, as Mr Lanvers had chosen this day to instruct his son in the traditional art of archery. As the Holmes Matriarch remembered it, it was an art which the Lanvers had been practicing for generations, if not centuries. She did not much see the appeal in standing still and releasing a straining piece of rope with the sole purpose of piercing a target, but… The ladies of the neighbourhood did not often have the occasion of organising parties such as this one, and generally took advantage of the absence of males in any of their homes to get together. Especially when, as appeared to be the case that day, a new presence was to be welcomed into their tightly knit circle.

The Holmes Matriarch brought her customary chitchat with their host to a close as she turned towards the newcomer, who seemed to be defensively holding her cup of tea close to her chest. One did have to sympathise with the younger woman: she hadn't been residing in this country for long, after all, and knew little to no one in their community. Why, Mummy Holmes herself knew little more than her last name (Gladwyn) and her husband (Jacob Gladwyn, quite a striking lad). And she did pride herself on her knowledge of the happenings of their part of the country.

Absently stopping on the other side of the table to add a sugar cube to her cuppa, Mummy Holmes glided to their new member's side and sat down next to her on the couch.

"Quite a dashing name you were gifted with, my dear," the Holmes Matriarch complimented, blithely disregarding the fact that she'd never even heard the name mentioned in a conversation. "How did you say it was pronounced again?"

Mummy Holmes watched as the younger woman blushed in an absolutely endearing fashion, blue eyes shifting nervously to the side. The question was a valid one after all, the newcomer's face presented quite a few Eastern-European characteristics; it would stand to reason that her name could as well. The grip of her teacup relaxing a bit at the compliment, the newcomer took a sip of it before reiterating her name. "Anastasia," she said slowly, putting emphasis on the second-to-last syllable.

Well that explained the light skin tone and straight hair, the older woman observed with the satisfaction that came from an accurate guess. That nose of hers also displayed a certain je-ne-sais-quoi that didn't quite seem English."Anna-stah-see-ah," the Holmes Matriarch repeated, letting the name roll out of her mouth. "Russian in origin, if I'm not mistaken? It is a culturally rich country…"

Apparently, that last comment was all it took to launch her new friend on a highly detailed account of her favourite elements of life in Russia. It seemed that, when not strong-armed into indulging in small talk, Anastasia Gladwyn was quite expressive as she spoke. Letting the conversation flow between the two of them, they broached the topic of previous travels (the younger had yet to leave Europe, and quite enjoyed the tales of the Holmes Matriarch's forays into Northern Africa), before settling on to the topic of family.

Despite her having been in England for less than five years, Anastasia had quickly achieved her dream of starting a family. "I already have a little one of my own, at home," the younger woman smiled fondly as she took out a small picture from her purse.

On it, Mummy Holmes could recognise young Mr. Gladwyn, standing proudly next to a softly smiling Anastasia. The young couple was holding an adorable little babe between the both of them, and had apparently had the good fortune of getting a toothless smile from the child in the picture.

"Look at that precious little babe," Mummy Holmes cooed, handing back the photograph. "My little one wouldn't even lift up the corner of his lips for the family picture; he was scowling the whole while," she commented, thinking about her young Mycroft.

The younger woman let out a huff of amusement, then looked back at the picture fondly. "She'll be turning two this summer," Anastasia added, "and she's been so nice, we've been thinking about giving her a brother soon."

Mummy Holmes laughed daintily. "Oh, you might encounter quite a surprise then! I've got three boys of my own at home, and let me tell you that none of them is what I'd have expected for myself 15 years ago," she trailed off with a smile. "Every single one of them is too ridiculous for words, and I constantly have to make sure they haven't irreparably damaged the house in my absence…"

Anastasia covered her mouth with slender fingers as her eyes widened slightly.

"Three boys and a husband! Why, you must long for female companionship then!"

The Holmes Matriarch couldn't help the happy laughter that spilled from her lips.

"Oh, no! I fortunately only need to deal with three males at home: my husband is most certainly the worst of them, despite his age."

As she watched Anastasia descend into unrestrained giggles at that mental image, Mummy Holmes spared a moment to marvel at the camaraderie she already felt with that young woman much younger than her. However, that thought was soon swept aside as her new friend launched herself in the description of what she'd expected her ideal life to be, complete with details concerning the most humorous actions. Maybe the younger woman was right. Perhaps she did need female companionship.

* * *

**And here is the newest installment of this series :) Wherein Mummy Holmes makes a new friend, and spends a boy-free afternoon! **

**I think on the next chapter, we'll probably get an inkling as to what happened at home while she was gone :P **

**Oh! And for those of you following my other stories, know that Malphas will finally be updated by the end of the week, as will Let It Go. Don't hesitate to send me ideas of things you'd like to see in any of the stories I'm writing as well! If it doesn't clash too much with the rest, I'll probably find a way to sneak it in :)**

**-Yoshishisha**


	14. Sneaking In

Little Sherlock Holmes's eyes widened and his mouth stretched into a wide open grin as he saw his friend coming towards him. Then, a frown took over his expression when he remembered where the both of them were.

"What are you doing?" the young boy hissed as he crouched closer to his companion. "You're not allowed to come here; Mummy and Daddy could see you!"

The other only grinned stupidly at him, yet Sherlock couldn't muster the usual stab of annoyance that appeared whenever he was confronted with human stupidity. His companion did have extenuating circumstances after all.

Little Sherlock Holmes stood up as imperiously as he could and motioned for his companion to follow.

"Come along, Redbeard. I'll sneak you in!"

* * *

Mummy Holmes had come back in high spirits from her tea time with Anastasia (and the other ladies as well). The young girl was such a delightful presence! After all, it wasn't often that her desire to meet new people was met, which led to her always being far more cheerful afterwards whenever that happened. However, the woman mused as she ambled towards her front door, she had to admit to missing her husband and children.

"I do hope our home has been well taken care of in my absence," she called out as she crossed the threshold with a skip in her step. Her joyous mood faltered slightly as she laid her eyes downwards: muddy paw prints were rather messily scattered across the lobby floor.

The Holmes Matriarch shook her head in fondness as she deftly avoided the mud on her path towards the kitchen. It seemed as though her wishes had been in vain, after all.

Leaving her tea to brew as she hummed under her breath, Mummy Holmes set towards the member of her house most liable to offer some clarification as to an animal's presence in it. Knocking on the wooden door, she waited a few seconds, before sighing and letting herself in without further ado.

As expected, her husband was engrossed in his work again. However, much to her surprise, no messy piles of paper were visible onto the desk's surface. In fact, if one ignored the haphazardly scattered writing utensils, the desk looked positively pristine!

Turning towards her children's father, she approached to get a hand on his shoulder as she remembered why she'd thought him engrossed in his work despite the absence of apparent paperwork. Eyes focused on the grandfather clock, head resting on a folded knee, and mouth moving incessantly: he had all the signs of being in his mental attic again. The contact on his shoulder didn't seem to inhibit his reflection, and even breaking his hypnotic bond with the grandfather clock garnered no reaction from Daddy Holmes.

Huffing at her failure, Mummy Holmes moved to stand back behind her husband.

"Well, it seems like you leave me no choice," she sighed with a rare touch of drama. "Alas, I shall resort to most dastardly measures in order to seize my beloved's attention!"

The smirk that was painted on her features and the hand daintily thrown over her eyes would have put the Holmes patriarch on guard, had he been looking at her, Mummy Holmes knew. Unfortunately for him, and very luckily for her, he was so engrossed in his mental attic that she didn't even register to his senses. Her smirk widened into a grin. Unless…

With nary a word of warning (although it would certainly have gone unheeded anyways), the Holmes Matriarch threw her body forward onto her husband's form draping her arms around his neck and nuzzling her cheek into his hair.

"Oh dear beloved, I have missed you so!" she exclaimed to the air even as his form tensed abruptly against hers, before splutters reached her ear.

"Cease disturbing my work with your feminine wiles this instant, woman!"

The bite his words probably meant to convey was completely smothered by the flustered indignation he exuded as he turned around. And the imperious air he was most probably aiming for utterly had the opposite effect due to his rather precarious position in his chair as well as the crazed look his untamed locks gave him.

Faced with such a compelling figure, Mummy Holmes had the only reasonable reaction to be had in such a situation: she laughed and swooped down for a hug again, stealing a kiss as she went. She grinned again at her husband's disgruntled face and decidedly pouting expression.

"I have made tea," she offered placatingly even as the grin remained on her face. Her husband's stare accurately portrayed his utter disdain at such an idea, yet she continued.

"It's almost ready, thus still likely to be warm if you come down promptly enough," she offered. Apparently though, the mad researcher on the chair still didn't seem enthused with the idea.

"Digestion slows the mind down," he reminded her as though she was a particularly slow child. It was indeed true that she was hanging onto the unreasonable hope that he'd forget about that particular theory. Thus, he'd had to repeat that same statement to her more times than she could remember.

Instead of rehashing the various arguments she'd already exposed to him in similar situations, Mummy Holmes played with the hand she was still grasping. "I will stay and talk your ear off until you follow me down; I know you are aware of that fact," she reminded him.

His expression as he carefully unfolded from his position brought another smile to the woman's face. He'd let go of his current disgruntled state when he saw the prints downstairs. And feeding him was well worth any trouble he could brew. After all, tea wouldn't be tea if it wasn't accompanied with crumpets, would it?

* * *

**So, this is a bit shorter than I'd like. And it's actually the first of two parts, but I took such a long writing just this that I decided I shouldn't make you wait any longer. I'll try to get the next part out in two weeks, hopefully. **

**In which Mummy Holmes is unusually chipper, and Sherlock brings an illegal friend home...**

**-Yoshishisha**


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